


I built a home for you, for me, until it disappeared

by cashewdani



Category: Cougar Town
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cashewdani/pseuds/cashewdani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jules can still kind of feel the ghost of his body on her whole right side.</p>
<p>It’s eerie how familiar that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I built a home for you, for me, until it disappeared

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed.

When Bobby goes to leave that night, back to the boat, he leans over Travis and whispers something to him that Jules can’t even pretend to eavesdrop on, it’s that quiet. Travis hunkers down further into the sofa, and Bobby rubs his head, affectionately, saying, “Don’t worry, Little Man, you’ll get through this,” and Travis murmurs something that’s probably telling his father to stop calling him that. She can’t decipher through the couch cushions.

“I’ll see you later, J-Bird,” Bobby says with a wave from the door, and Jules can still kind of feel the ghost of his body on her whole right side.

It’s eerie how familiar that is.

****

  


“It’s late,” Bobby says when he walks in the door at 2:15, like it’s news to her.

If she wanted to, she could break apart the different smells he brings in with him, smoke and alcohol and maybe a little bit of perfume or hairspray or something else feminine that’s not supposed to be there, but she never really wants to. Jules focuses in harder on the TV show she’s watching even though she has it on mute and isn’t exactly sure what has been playing for the past 45 minutes.

He asks, “Trav still sick?” and she just points at the baby monitor she should have gotten rid of six years ago when he turned one, filling the living room with the ragged sound of congested breathing.

Jules is appreciating that so far, Bobby hasn’t said anything that she actually has to respond to with words, because she feels it wouldn’t stop and she’d have to find out where he was, and why he didn’t answer her call from the doctor’s office today, and mostly ask him how he lets this be her life. Travis coughs, and it distracts her from the thought that she let’s this be her life too.

“I’ll sit up with him,” Bobby tells her, and Jules wants to say, “It’s about fucking time,” but she hasn’t slept for three days and she’s too tired for it. Too tired to ask him if he’s sure or whether he knows where they keep the Robitussin or how much Travis is supposed to take now that he’s heavier. He’ll wake her if he needs her. Or Travis will.

She wants to feel like a bad mother but the walk from the living room to her bed isn’t all that long and she’s asleep before the guilt can really get rolling.

When Jules wakes up, she realizes that not only did she sleep, she’s slept later than she has in years. And in the light of day, it’s really easy to feel like she selfishly abandoned her child. 

She can’t hear Travis breathing, the sound that’s provided the soundtrack in the house for days, and she thinks first, _Oh God, he died_ before _The monitor is downstairs_. Before _He’s okay_ too, which is interestingly what she finds when she stumbles into the kitchen after taking in his unoccupied bed.

There’s Travis, sitting at the table with syrup sticky lips and a plate of waffles in front of him, smiling. And Bobby, next to him, with his feet up on Jules’ chair, who yells, “J-BIRD!” at her when she lets out the breath she was holding. “Look who’s feeling better.”

“Dad put swamp on my chest,” Travis informs her, and she has no idea what that means, but it apparently worked. “And he made waffles!”

Jules takes in the messy waffle iron that she never uses because it’s hard to clean, and the batter on the counter, and the stains on Travis’ pajamas that are probably swamp residue and prepares to sigh again. But then, Bobby holds out a plate, informing her, “Have one, it’s still warm,” and he’s going to the fridge to get Travis more juice, and this is what Jules used to think about before it got too sad to do it any more.

Bobby puts his hand on her shoulder as he pours the OJ, and the weight of him is heavy and solid, and she feels safe in this normalcy, this event that’s happening in kitchens all over the hemisphere.

She thinks about this morning, that comfort, later, more than she probably should.

****

  


It’s a defense mechanism, but Jules gets very used to not mentioning all the times and ways that Bobby disappoints her. She becomes a crafter of lies and a wearer of, at most, mild annoyance. “That’s just Bobby,” she’ll say, with a shrug, like it really doesn’t matter at all, whatever it is.

But it does matter. 

And it matters the way that people look at her like she’s crazy or weak, or sometimes even like they pity her. She knows they talk about her when she’s not there, how sad it is, how they’d never tolerate his behavior the way she does, but they might. That’s the part that makes her angry. They have no idea what they’d put up with if it seemed better than the alternative.

So they talk behind her back at PTA meetings and backyard barbecues, always whispering how it’s almost like she’s a single mother, all of them, except for Ellie, who says these things straight to her face.

“He isn’t coming, is he?” Ellie wants to know when Jules hangs up with Bobby, who apparently will not be watching Travis tonight so they can go out. It’s not clear if Ellie’s angry because they’re going to have to watch a video instead of going to the movies, or because of what just happened to her best friend.

Jules says “No,” while already trying to concoct a reasonable explanation, and she wishes that Bobby could be a surgeon or a detective, or someone whose profession made it noble when they had to miss out on dinner reservations and teacher conferences and tucking their kid in at night. No one would be quite as sad if he was arresting drug dealers or cutting infections out of people.

But he’s just somewhere. Hanging out, or drinking or playing a round, and yes, the other possibility, which she, as always, avoids pondering.

“Why don’t you ask him where he is? You have the right to.”

“Leave it alone, El.”

“No, I want to know. Why don’t you ever ask him where he is? What he’s doing? Why he can’t help you out?”

She sighs. “Because it’s not important.”

“It is important! I don’t know why you think this isn’t impor...”

Jules interrupts with, “It’s not important because he’s not here. No matter where he is, he’s not here!” All the venom that she only has ever let out at night to her own reflection is somehow just loose in the kitchen. “So, what the fuck do I care what he’s doing? He’s not doing it with me.”

Ellie actually has a little bit of pleasure mixed in there with the sadness. “You’re a strong woman, Jules.”

And, in what Jules takes as the behavior not becoming a strong woman, immediately bursts into tears.

“You are, I’m impressed every day at all that you do,” Ellie whispers to her, while they hug in the kitchen, and Jules is more thankful that night for her than her husband.

****

  


Jules has to take her licensing exam tomorrow after all her real estate classes and there’s an empty bottle of wine on her coffee table.

The doubt started creeping in right after she said goodnight to Trav, and then it just spiraled out of control until she was sure she wasn’t going to pass and there was no reason to even bother. She might not even go tomorrow. There doesn’t seem to be a point, she’ll just come up with a reason she never starts showing houses.

“You done studying?” Bobby asks her, and she guesses it’s pretty obvious that she is from the way she was lying down on her books. He’d been out in the yard, putting in the rough of their overgrown lawn because he can never seem to find the time to get the mower fixed.

Sighing, she says, “I can’t do this, Bobby.”

“Can’t do what?”

“This,” she gestures at the table covered in notes and pencils and that glass with just two sips of merlot left in it. “I’m not going to pass the test.”

He takes the chicken they had for dinner out of the fridge and starts eating it cold with his hands. “You will.”

“No, I’m really not. None of it’s sticking and I’m a little drunk, and they don’t give out a real estate license to you if you’re dumb and smell like wine.”

“You’re going to destroy that test, Jules. You’re the smartest person I know,” 

She thinks, _most people you know are idiots_ but doesn’t say it out loud.

“I’ll quiz you. Come on, pass me one of those books.”

“You don’t have to quiz me, Bobby.”

“Damn straight I don’t have to. Because you got this in the bag, J-Bird. Seriously. Now, I’m going to go take a shower, you coming up, or you going to study some more?”

Jules knows why she started considering real estate in the first place, that she needs to be able to make her own money and pay her own way and not depend on Bobby as much as she does because he’s pretty unreliable. “Just another hour.”

“Awesome,” he says, holding up his palm for a high-five, and she gives him one, even though his fingers are still greasy.

In the moment of panic that will settle in when the proctor first tells them to begin, she remembers the high five, and then all the facts she has to know.

****

  
For Ellie’s birthday, Andy rents out the back room of a restaurant and a karaoke machine and a limo so none of them have to die after the party.

Jules knows that Andy confirmed the date with Bobby before he even mentioned it to his wife, which sounds crazy, but Andy’s like Jules is, he doesn’t want to rock the boat. He just wants everyone to be happy and have fun and Bobby’s presence is a part of that. For him and Jules and even for Ellie even though she’d never admit it.

That night they have a lot of wine and champagne and cocktails, and Bobby gets up on stage with her and Ellie to sing, “Dancing Queen”. At the close of the song, Ellie puts her arms around him, and kisses his cheek. Even in the haze of alcohol, Jules recognizes herself in that action. The way it’s easy to love Bobby when he’s there and he’s funny and you don’t have to miss him. She thinks sober she would have pointed it out, but there’s no way for her to be that complex in this condition.

It’s a good night that Jules feels all through the next day, and Bobby’s presence earns her a month before Ellie’s making her face reality again.

Jules doesn’t know that when she starts humming _ABBA_ in response, it’s going to be the last time Ellie says anything to her about Bobby. The looks will still be there, the judgement never fully goes away, but Ellie will never speak on the topic again.

And Jules figured that when this finally happened, she’d be grateful, but it just makes everything seem harder.

****

  
Bobby touches her a lot the day of her mother’s funeral. He helps her zip her dress, and kisses her forehead while she’s sitting on the bed, trying to get the strength together to put on her shoes, and he physically holds her up as she has to walk down the aisle in the church.

It’s nice to lean on Bobby. To know that he’s there for her to lean on sometimes, even if it always seems like he’s halfway out the door.

At the house, after the graveside, he puts together a plate of food for her, and talks to her dad and pulls Travis off to the side when it looks like everyone saying they’re sorry is starting to get to him. She’s loved him so much this week, more than she has in years.

And Jules is too busy watching him talking to Ellie to notice at first, but then she catches sight of her dad on the sofa. His head is in his hands, and it slaps her like an open palm that she doesn’t want to be alone. That winding up like that is the saddest thing she can imagine. And right behind it is the guilt and the grief and she’s making a sound that it seems impossible to categorize as human.

Even though Bobby was on the other side of the room, somehow he’s there, squeezing her into the blazer he borrowed from Andy. He’s there and yet she cries harder.

****

  
“While you were showing the Johnsons houses, Bobby called to say he knows it’s your anniversary this weekend, but he’s got to go to Atlanta for an opening or something. I wrote it down.” Laurie hands her a piece of paper that says, _Bobby, anniv., ATL (ALAN!!)_ on it

“Who’s Alan?”

“Oh, he’s just some guy I hooked up with once at a Braves game. I am obligated by my hormones to think of him every time I hear the word Atlanta,” She puts on this old timey, funny voice. “He could have done batting practice with what was in his pants, if you get what I’m saying.”

“Everyone gets what you’re saying.” Jules sighs and sits down at her desk, wondering how much exactly Bobby needs to be at this opening and how much he’d just like to not be in Florida.

“It sucks that he’s going to miss your anniversary though.”

“Yeah, well, won’t be the first time.” Jules remembers their 7th anniversary, where he’d spent the day keeping his hand on a car in an effort to win it. Bobby had been near the dealership to begin with because he was picking up the gift he had apparently just remembered he needed. And even though he was knocked out of the competition a mere 46 minutes in, he had to wait around for the additional 9 hours to see who would inevitably get to take it home.

A real wonderful showing to make up for the year before, when he had fallen out of a tree and needed to go to the emergency room because, _he just had to see if he could climb it._

She is staring at the note in her hand and debating if she should call and yell at him, or give him the silent treatment, when Laurie says, “At least he remembered it,”

Jules knows she’s supposed to stay that stage beyond mad that only Bobby can get her to, but this soothes her, sadly, again, into complacency.

“I mean, my stepfathers never remembered their anniversary with my mom, but I think after awhile she didn’t really so much either, so she’d just say he forgot if she wanted a new outfit or something.”

“Not all relationships are like that, Laurie,” Jules says, because sometimes Laurie’s flippancy about a story is more tragic than the tragedy itself.

“Yeah, I know. I just said Bobby treated you better.”

Jules tells her, “Not all relationships are like this either,” as if it’s something she actually knows.

****

  
“You were amazing up there!” Jules gushes when Travis joins her in the cafeteria for post honor society refreshments.

“I just sat on stage and accepted a document.”

“I know, but you did it like the most fantastic kind of kid.” She pulls him into a hug, and she likes that he gives her nearly 20 seconds before he’s trying to wriggle out of her grasp. “Wait, you have to take a picture with me!”

“How many pictures did you already take?”

“That’s not really important, is it?”

He repeats, “How many?”

“Close to 100.” He rolls his eyes at her and she says, “I had to make sure that one came out well.”

“Yeah, well, couldn’t have stopped at just ten like a normal person.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying. Here,” she taps Jenna Lipton’s brother on the shoulder, “will you take a picture of us together?”

She hopes Travis smiles because if not, she’s going to make him take another six.

“We’ll get one with Dad if he’s done at the course when we get home. He wanted to be here,” she starts to say, but Travis interrupts her.

“It’s okay, Mom. You don’t need to apologize for him,” Travis says, and she wants to, she has to, because she chose Bobby, and in turn she chose this life of disappointment for her son. 

She presses her lips into a thin line. “He really is sorry. I know it might not seem like it, but he is, Travis.”

He changes the subject, asking, “Do you want to take another picture?”, and she loves him so much and wonders how he turned out so good.

That last photo is the one that gets printed and put in frame and displayed in the living room on an already overcrowded end table. One day while she’s trying to find a spot for a coaster, she realizes that with all the frames crammed in there, there’s not a single picture with Bobby in it.

Jules takes one out of an album, guiltily, of her and Bobby before Travis and the marriage license and the disappointment, even if looking at it makes her wish young didn’t have to mean naive.

****

  
She’s lying on her back, staring at the ceiling fan, with the sheen of sex still on her skin, when she says, “Bobby, I want a divorce.”

He pushes the hair off her forehead, and it feels good. Cool and nice and familiar, but when he says, “You don’t mean that, J-Bird,” she knows that she does.

It’s not enough, it doesn’t even add up to enough if she takes all the things that she’s appreciated over the years, the Christmas gifts and post-its on the bathroom mirror, and the phone calls much too late from the road when he was actually missing her.

“I want a divorce,” she repeats, and he slides off the sheets, pulling on his jeans, and she places her own hand where his was, but it feels different. Shaky but somehow solid. Stronger than her palm feels it has a right to be.

Jules doesn’t watch him leave, she’s very familiar with the way it looks, but she can’t help but wait for him to walk back in.


End file.
